


Hallucinating You

by wafflenull



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hallucinations, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Reichenbach, Pre-Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, it's really only him breaking up with her, mary and John have zero romantic moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 15:33:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflenull/pseuds/wafflenull
Summary: Two years after TRF, John still visits 221B daily, hallucinating Sherlock.





	Hallucinating You

John sat in his chair for the 730th day, the two year anniversary. He sat there once again, staring at the other chair, black and leather. He could see it clearly, him sitting there. His long, pale fingers steepled under his chin, pondering another case. He could see the crease between his eyebrows and the slightly pursed lips with the incredibly unique cupid’s bow. He could see the buttons on the shirt, struggling to remain in their respective holes due to the tightness of the fabric. John could see it all. He could see Sherlock.

Sherlock looked up at him—but John knew it wasn’t the real Sherlock—and gave him the tiniest smile. “Simple, really,” Sherlock said. John nodded. When would his brain leave him alone? He knew it wasn’t real. He knew.

“It was the wife,” Sherlock said. John didn’t say anything. He tried not to indulge. He knew it would just worsen his condition. “Not surprised?” Sherlock asked. See, it just wasn’t Sherlock. Sherlock wouldn’t say that, he’d just go straight into the explanation. But, it was the deep baritone John had heard so many times. It was the slender and graceful fingers John had seen tap the armrests countless times. It was the dark curls that John had seen fall on Sherlock’s forehead time and time again. It looked like Sherlock. But Sherlock was dead.

John got up at the sound of the kettle whistling and made himself some tea. He leaned against the counter and felt the heat seep into his hands. He glanced back at the chair, but Sherlock—or what looked like Sherlock—was gone. He sighed. He should be happy about that, that his hallucinations were diminishing. Yet, John was missing them because they were the only link left to the detective.

After finishing his tea, he rinsed the mug, dried it, and put it away. He slipped out the door, Mrs. Hudson still not aware of his daily visits. He made his way back to his new flat. He entered the door and sat in his new chair. He looked into the kitchen at his girlfriend cleaning up. He clears his throat, catching her attention.

“You should really be more attentive. Somebody else could have just come in and killed you,” John said, serious but in a joking-manner.

“I knew it was you,” Mary said. John’s brow crinkles. What?

“Well, hi to you too,” John said, faking a little laugh.

“Hi,” Mary said, leaning down to put a bowl in the cabinet.

John got up from his chair and by the time he reached Mary, she was standing up straight again. He put his hands on her shoulders and could feel her tense for a split second before relaxing again. He turned her around and said, “Let’s go out tonight. I have reservations for a nice place.” Mary smiled. “Sure.”

—

John and Mary were sitting at their table, John clad in a suit and Mary in a purple, floor-length dress. She excused herself and got up to go to freshen up. His eyes followed her soft curves. He felt the velvet box in his breast pocket and it weighed far more than it did in the shop. He took it out and placed it in the middle of the table.

“John. I—” It was that baritone.  
John looked up, but there was nobody there. Another hallucination, John thought. But he was wrong.

The evening passed. John didn’t propose. Mary didn’t have the opportunity to say yes or no. They didn’t kiss as a newly engaged couple. The restaurant had no need to applaud.   
In the car, John said he had to stop at the surgery. Mary dropped him off there and John walked towards Baker Street, once the car had pulled away. John made his way up the 17 steps and sat down in his chair. He could feel the tears stinging his eyes, but pushed them away.

“This is for the best,” John whispered. “One last time,” he said, even quieter. He patted the arms of his chair before he stood. He turned and in the kitchen John saw Sherlock again.

“Listen,” John began, turning back towards the black leather chair. “This is my last time here. I can’t handle it. I’ve come every day for two years. I’ve seen your face but it’s not healthy. I’ve moved on.” John turned towards the stairs but was stopped by a 4 word sentence.

“Give me a chance.” John turned around, but apparently Sherlock wasn’t done. “I know it must have been difficult. Your obsession with me was a big part of your life,” he paused to laugh. He was obviously trying to distance himself. “But perhaps, now that I’m back, we could resume our friendship and partnership.”

John stared at Sherlock. “You’re starting sound more like Sherlock, not quite, but close.” John let his head hang and choked out a laugh. “First time I saw you, I genuinely thought it was you. But I’m not falling for this again. It’s too much.”

Sherlock’s brow creased, but then his entire face relaxed. John had seen that sequence of events thousands of times. It happened whenever there was something perplexing him, but the answer dawned on him, clearing up his face.

“John.” Sherlock took a stop forward. “It’s me. I’m not a hallucination.”

John simply laughed. “Sure, you are. You are dead.”

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock shouted. John laughed a pained laugh again. “She won’t come. You’re a hallucination, she can’t hear—” John was cut off by footsteps.

“Back for one evening and already back to treating me like a personal servant,” he could hear Mrs. Hudson mumbling as she climbed the stairs.

John stared at Sherlock. Once Mrs. Hudson entered the living room, she saw John and a smile spread across her face.

“John, it’s been a while,” she said. John turned towards her, the tears in his eyes. 

“Yeah, it has. Nice to see you.”

“So, Sherlock, why did you call me? I was about to start the dishes,” Mrs. Hudson said.

“Oh, nothing. Just an experiment. Leave now, please,” Sherlock replied, waving his hand through the air.

Mrs. Hudson mumbled something, before making her way back down the stairs to 221A.

John turned back to Sherlock. “Give me a chance,” Sherlock said. “Please?”

John shook his head. “How could you? I thought you were dead. I thought you were gone. I saw you on the ground. I-I-I-I saw it happen. You can’t fake th-how did you-why did you?” John ran a hand over his face. “Give you a chance to what? Fake your death again? I don’t need that.”

Sherlock shook his head. “A chance to,” he stopped short. He looked around the room and then focused on John’s suit. “Did she say yes?”

John’s eyes flew from the floor to Sherlock’s eyes. John. I— “You were there? That was you?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I meant to surprise you, but you were going to propose so…”

“I didn’t,” John blurted out. Sherlock nodded. “I couldn’t. It wasn’t the right moment.” Sherlock nodded again. “I don’t know what you want a chance for, but you can have it.” John turned and walked out of 221B. Sherlock started saying something, but John didn’t hear.

—

John returned to his flat with Mary and made his way to the bedroom. Now that Sherlock was alive, he couldn’t do this to her. He had planned to do this anyway, once he realized he was proposing purely out of a feeling of obligation. But now, out of a selfish reason, he wanted to do it as soon as possible.

John sat down on the bed after seeing the line of light under the bathroom door. He prepared his words, waiting for her to come out, but once she did, he had forgotten them all.

“Mary, listen,” he began. “We need to talk.”

Mary cocked her head to the side. “Okay?” John was visibly struggling to find the right words. “Are you done?” Mary asked, clearly sensing the atmosphere. She always had a knack for that.

“I just don’t think it’s working anymore,” John said.

“It never did,” Mary said. “I don’t know who we were kidding. I pride myself in my observational skills and I could see you were hung up on somebody. I thought I could get you to forget about them.”

John shook his head. “I don't think anybody could and besides, they’ve reentered my life.”

“May I ask who?” Mary said.

“I never told you about him,” John said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Him?” Mary asked. John nodded. “I guess, that’s one thing I didn’t observe.”

John sat there for another few seconds. “I’ll just leave then,” he trailed off.

Mary reached out and took a hold of his wrist. “You don’t have to. I’m not going to kick you out. It’s pretty late.” John didn’t say anything. “Unless you want to go be with him.” She let go of his wrist and nodded. “You can come get your stuff anytime you want.”

“Thanks,” John said, before getting up and leaving the flat. John called for a taxi and gave the address, loving the sound of it.

He ran up the 17 steps and burst into the living room. Sherlock, who was sitting his chair, immediately jumped up. John didn’t stop walking, he made his way to Sherlock and went straight for his lips.

Their lips touched for a second, before John realized what he was doing and pulled away slightly, but Sherlock was already stepping into him. John leaned back in and covered Sherlock’s lips with his. He washed away all the kisses he had had with Mary the past couple of months with the one he never had but always wanted. He knitted his fingers in the curls on Sherlock’s nape, while Sherlock’s arms snaked around John’s waist. 

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t the promise of a life time of perfection. It wasn’t what books and movies made it seem to be. 

It was amazing. It was a promise to be there for each other in the hard times (like they always were). It was better than what the books and movies made it seem to be.

It was a kiss between to broken men, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. It was a kiss that would become the first of many. It was a kiss they’d always remember, along with the with a new ring on Sherlock’s finger and the one up at the altar. It was a kiss to start a lifetime, a lifetime of hardship and beauty, and most importantly, love. Because that’s the reason Sherlock wanted the chance for. 

He wanted a chance to love John.


End file.
